


To Put Out The Sun

by patcat127



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Core Mechanics (Blaseball Team), Food, Friendship, Gen, Hall of Flame (Blaseball), Incineration (Blaseball), Peanuts - Freeform, Platonic Relationships, Starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 08:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30119646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patcat127/pseuds/patcat127
Summary: Jolene Willowtree, pitcher for the brand-new Core Mechanics, shares her thoughts with us before her first game on the mound! Tune in to our exclusive interview and coverage of the game to watch what this new star can do against the Seattle Garages.
Kudos: 1





	1. The Game

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written since I was in somewhere around middle school (and those barely counted), feedback is always appreciated (both on the work itself and my use of the website, I'm new to that too). Also chapter/fic names, i need better ones i think so feel free to suggest

“The sun came first. Not a lot of people know that, and the last name doesn’t suggest it, but for most of my life the only weird thing about me was the gaping hole in my chest with a star you could hold in your hand floating inside. It was only a year or two before I found my way to the Core that I noticed a few leaves were on the right side of that little gap. It didn’t hurt that it was growing there, the roots spreading through and out, across my chest, my leg, my arm, my neck. I was worried it would restrict me, but as it grew it just... didn’t. If anything, I became stronger, more flexible, the plant working with me, not against me, a mutual relationship; It feeds off the star, and I get a better throwing arm. Only time I've ever trimmed it is when the leaves started poking me in the eye, and when it came time to cut it back, it understood.” 

“But people seem surprised when I mention the sun coming first. Almost certainly because of my name, which I suppose I can’t fault them for. But all my shirts have a hole cut to show it off, and I’ll still run into a jacket that doesn’t have room for the little fella.” Jolene Willowtree runs her hand along the leaves of the small weeping willow growing on her left shoulder, like one would pet a cat. 

Jolene responds to the next question, “Can I touch it? The sun, you mean?” She perks up, reaching a hand in gently. “‘course I can. You could, too, but it’d probably hurt. Do you want to try?” 

As she hears the affirming response, Jolene grips the sun like a pitcher grips a ball, pulling it out. Almost immediately, the color seems to drain from her face, from the bark wrapping around her arm, the leaves draped across her hat. As the interviewer gently moves to touch the glowing sphere, their hand retracts, the burning sensation too sudden, too strong to really hold. She puts it back, aligning it inside and leaving it gently rotating, before letting out a small laugh. 

“Very few can hold this without some sort of protection, don’t feel bad,” she chuckles. “I think we’re on in ten, you got the answers you need?” Jolene asks a question of her own, and her face drops as she hears the answer. The sun glows a little dimmer as she quietly says, 

“Yes, I’ve thought about incineration. We all have. When we came up to the surface, back from the Big Leagues... well, it was different. No pillars, grass instead of concrete, surface-level gravity in only one direction felt like a break, but watching the feedback, the reverb, the... incinerations... they’ve been on all our minds.” There’s a nervous chuckle. “How could we ignore it? Sure, there was danger before, but we... that’s new for us. And the rule changes, voted on by a group of people I’m still wrapping my head around... it’s interesting. But yes, I’ve thought about incineration, and I’d rather not talk about it right now” The response is colder than Jolene usually aims for, turning to get ready for the game, shaking the thoughts in her head.

Jolene Willowtree has thought about incineration a lot. She has a few notes in her various lockers with different wishes if she’s ever... chosen. If the tree stays behind, make sure it stays alive. If the sun stays behind, use it to power something and keep it ready if she comes back for it one day. If both stay behind, keep them alive and keep them together. If neither do, gather the ashes and use it for something cool. She’s not secretive about this, people know about them, but she doesn’t bring it up much. It’s not a fun thing to think about, especially when you know that even if you get burned to ash, you’re not out of the league. They should have disclosed that in the contract, but we wouldn’t have read it anyway. It doesn’t matter, she thinks, shaking those thoughts from her head, as she heads into the locker room and preps for the upcoming game.

* * *

It’s the bottom of the ninth, Jolene Willowtree on the mound and Malik Destiny on the plate. The bases are loaded, 2 strikes on the board, 2 outs. It’s 5-4 Mechanics, Willowtree just has to cinch this last pitch. Destiny has been playing well, however, and seems geared up for a home run. A lot rides on this pitch, and Willowtree knows it.

Jolene takes a deep breath, calming herself. Is it worth it? She decides it is, she’s done it for less important throws. Glancing around to the fielders, she nods at all of them, letting them know the priority is getting the ball back to her as soon as possible. They respond, knowing her play. It’ll be the first time she’s done it in the ILB, at least the modern incarnation, but they’ve seen it before, in practice, in the big leagues, in their own personal games. The Fans are going to get a show. Breathing deep, calming down, clearing her head, she reaches into her chest and slowly removes the flaming, blaseball-sized star, holding it. The flame ignites, the burning, aching sensation where her lungs should be reminding her of how she needs this, the anger, the pain, fueled down her arm, through the roots, branches, into the sphere, igniting it, a massive flame lighting up. With a mighty, angry roar, she lets loose, a flaming shot of a pitch, screaming directly towards Malik who’s ready to hit it back.

As the crack of bat-against-ball rings out across the field, the crunch of the wood shattering as the pitch is shot, the glow of fire against the field is the only illumination as the sun is blotted out. The only light, save for the white glow in the umpire’s eyes as a deep, booming voice shouts out across the field: 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**“** **JOLENE WILLOWTREE has been INCINERATED”**

Everyone stops, staring at the mound as a pile of ash blows away, the only sign of it’s previous occupant being the flaming orb that lands next to 3rd base. As people start to move again, the ball is picked up, Kelvin Drumsolo tapping Paula Turnip briefly, to signal the end of the game and allow the team to properly process their first incineration.

* * *

It’s warm. That’s the first thing she noticed after the bright light died away, it’s blue, it’s chilling, but it’s not cold. However, she does feel a coldness, an absence, something missing... until it hits, she falls to her knees, nearly all of her effort going to breathing, using all of her strength and the rest goes to grasping at her chest, at the sides, at the center, but feeling.... nothing. Frantically, she searches, surely, it must be around here somewhere, right? It’s part of her, it can’t just stay behind-? But after circling around everywhere nearby for minutes, hours, an eternity, she collapses, accepting, or at least acknowledging, that her sun didn’t come with.

After a period of time that nobody’s quite sure of, she rises. Her muscles are stiff, her cheeks wet, and the leaves in her core are already wilting. There’s occasional flames, maybe one of those will help-? Her steps are absentminded, distracted by the terrifying realization that she won’t have it back anytime soon. If she can’t return, what will ease this pain? What will allow her to breathe, allow her compatriot to grow, allow her to live-? Stumbling to a brazier glowing with a blue flame, she leans over it, allowing the column of fire to pass through her and out the back of her jersey, hoping it’ll bring her some energy, some warmth, some feeling once again. None comes. 

As she lies on the verge of tears once again, the flame bringing nothing but a reminder of what she once had, something falls from above, through her, into the brazier. Standing up and sifting through the ash, she sees them. Peanuts. A tribute, she recalls, the only thing you can send to the Hall. Seems they’re meant for her. A smile flicks across her face for a moment, as she wonders who may have sent them. Maybe they’re even from her plant, she thinks, cracking one open and eating it. It’s bland, unseasoned, and once it’s gone the joyous feeling of its arrival is all but gone. The grin turns sour, seeing there’s only so many more. Gripping a handful, a few dozen from the first harvest, she sets some into her pocket, a memory, never to be eaten except in the most dire of circumstances, hopefully harvested from the plants she cared for for so long. One’s slipped into the area where the sun once was. It doesn’t hold in the middle, but maybe it’ll take hold, grow in a place like this. The rest are in hand, gradually eaten over the next few hours as she starts to walk.

Measurements of time fade away, the effort of remembering how long it’s been proving futile after the first few minutes, hours. Whatever measurement is correct, it’s a lot of them, an endless chamber of slick onyx floors and the occasional black brazier, glowing with blue flame, that occasionally dumps peanuts into it. There must be more, right? Someone to find? There were dozens in the Hall, they can’t be alone... right? Maybe they’re playing a game, practicing, something, anything.... but the endless expanse of nothingness continues onward, empty.

It’s been days, weeks, months, who knows anymore? Not like it matters. It doesn’t seem like she needs to sleep, which is good, because she knows that nightmares are almost certain in a place like this. She does feel tired, though, her muscles sore. Particularly those of her left arm and right leg, the ones encased in bark and branch. The tree isn’t helping, the leaves falling limp from lack of light. The flow of tears has started and stopped over the course of the journey, either from pulling herself together or from the ducts running dry. She’s not sure why she keeps going. Will anything change? Who knows? Not her. Another peanut, cracked open, swallowed. Bland as always.

Jolene Willowtree spots something in the distance. It’s far off, but she breaks into a sprint. Or, tries to, it’s more accurate that she stumbles a bit faster. It seems the tree’s started locking up a bit more in the past hours, days, weeks. She calls out, the sound not carrying far as she wants it to, her throat dry, locked up from her tears, which start flowing as she finally sees someone else, a silhouette in the distance. They’re eating from a brazier, as if it’s routine. A regular, it seems. As soon as the figure sees the shambling figure of Jolene, they put down their food and start running. She can see, soon, who it is: Sebastian Telephone, former Hall Star. He’s spent a lot of time here. She tries to call out, to thank him, but her arm is just outreached, embracing him, revelling in any human connection, not able to form the thoughts required to speak to him, to thank him, to ask where the others are. She just holds him for a while, and he returns the favor, seeming to know all too well what it’s like to be alone in this place.

Eventually, he asks where she’s from, what team, he doesn’t recognise the uniform. News of new teams is not something that comes often, so when she manages to pull herself together it’s a bit shocking.

“I’m from the Core Mechanics” she sniffled. “We came from the big league, to fix a flooding problem. Brought the Georgians, Worms, and Crabs with us.” An expression of bewilderment washes over his face as his mind runs amok with thoughts. 

The Crabs? The Baltimore Crabs, they’re back? He can’t believe it, back from the Big Leagues, and they brought friends! He’s so grateful, seeing the league expand, maybe eventually they’ll bring him back-! He contains himself, not wanting to seem too excited at the prospect while comforting this person. She’s pressed into his shoulder, sobbing, he can’t imagine how long she’s been wandering. This place is not friendly, but after a while, you get used to it. Sometimes you can talk to the Monitor, and it’ll take you to where everyone else is, he explains. Maybe someone will bring a ball this time, let them practice a bit? Either way, his mind goes back to the woman clutching him tightly, like she doesn’t want him to ever leave. 

He gets her to look up, letting her breathe deep and collect her emotions. He starts to tell her about the rules, 

She blinks, and the last syllable of his words ring out through the air, echoing in her mind loudly. Her throat closes up once again, realizing she’s alone. Resolving to find the Monitor, or at least find someone else, she takes a step forward.

Or, she tries to. Her leg pushes against the branches, once flexible, now unwavering, a symbol of freedom and cooperation turned to a prison, preventing her from moving even an inch. A chill wave moving through her body, shooting up the spot where her spine should be. She tries to crane her body, move her arm. Her right arm moves freely, within reach of the brazier, but her left is still, held aloft as if embracing the only person she’d seen in what felt like years. Unable to look around, she stares ahead, hoping to see someone, anyone, that can help her, but there’s nobody. She tries to call out, begging for someone, anyone to hear her, to help her, but as the leaves wilt and branches harden further, she’s left looking into the endless, unforgiving expanse of the Hall of Flame.


	2. The Hall

A giant, flying squid soars across the Hall of Flame, watching as endless rows of identical black braziers glow with blue flame.  _ where are those chips _ , it thinks, gliding along, attempting to remember where the large pile of chip bags was left.  _ who is that,  _ it remarks to itself, noticing a humanoid figure next to a brazier, arms outstretched in an odd formation. It hovers above momentarily.  _ a statue _ , it thinks, watching the figure for a few minutes to make sure it doesn’t move. Seeing it remain completely still, the large figure moves down, wrapping some tentacles around it and lifting the figure into the air.  _ should bring this to the middle _ it supposes.  _ it will make a nice center piece. _

__ The creature flies in the same direction for about a quarter of a day before it feels motion in its grasp.  _ uh.  _ It stops moving, hovering motionless.  _ who are you _ . The sound that comes from the figure is pained, dry, sounding like it takes a monstrous amount of effort from the creature in its grasp.

“...Jolene...” the figure wheezes.  _ oh no. _ The squid moves down, eventually putting the figure back on the ground, upright once again.  _ willowtree? _ it asks, which garners more motion from the figure. Another long pause. “...Yes.” she gasps out, unable to even remember what water tastes like.  _ you want some snacks? _ The larger creature asks. Jolene Willowtree sounds like she’s sobbing, tears would be flowing down her face if they weren’t all used up ages ago. “please...”

The Monitor gently grasps Jolene Willowtree’s immobile form and begins to fly at a much brisker pace than before, heading towards something not yet visible. After a much shorter amount of time than before, there’s something on the horizon. Seems like piles of something, separated into matching sections. As the two approach, Jolene can see that these are piles and piles of various foods, popcorn, chips, hot dogs and pickles, all sorted into their own piles. There’s a massive chef’s hat in the middle, too, with some smaller ones arranged in a circle. It sets Jolene down in the center of those hats, surrounding her on all sides with snacks.  _ eat what you want. i’ll be back soon.  _ The Monitor said, before donning the largest hat, grabbing a few bags of chips, and soaring directly upwards.

And before she could speak, Jolene Willowtree was alone again.

* * *

Jolene would cry, again, if she could. So close to food, to something to drink, but entirely unable to move. The small amount of movement she does have is dedicated to making sure she doesn’t fall over and smash her face in. You can’t starve here, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell when you haven’t eaten in what feels like months. Resigned to an even more Sisyphean fate, she simply tries to sleep again, an activity which has evaded her since the moment she arrived in this forsaken place.

After what feels like the shortest wait that she can remember, Jolene Willowtree hears a sound. Someone calling out to her? The voice is familiar, but she can’t remember why. Until she hears what it’s saying. Calling out, asking if she’s there. She creaks out a response, not loud enough to carry, but seems he’s heard it anyway. The resounding sounds of footsteps against the hard, crystalline material that makes up the floor here echoing throughout the mountains of unreachable food. Eventually, a familiar face rounds the bend, locking eyes with the imprisoned Willowtree. His expression instantly shifts into relief and pity. Sebastian tells her that he worried about her. He didn’t get to tell her about all the quirks of this place, she must’ve been so scared. More than anything she wants to respond, tell him she was scared, she was alone, thank you for coming back, but her throat is closed from the emotions she’s feeling. Sebastian embraces her, having seen her arms outstretched again and assuming she needed another hug, but hesitates upon not feeling her squeeze back. He asks if something’s wrong, trying to move back but finding his spine against a hard, unmoving barrier that looks like her arm. When he leans back and sees her move in closer, a look of realization and empathetic terror dawns on his face. 

“Oh my gods, what happened?” he asks, sliding out from her arm and looking her up and down. He sees the position she’s locked in, eyes running along, seeing the wilted tree on her shoulder, the grey bark across her skin, and the sullen look in her eyes. “Can you speak?” He makes eye contact with her once again, a deep look of concern behind his eyes. Jolene starts to move, adjusting herself so that her throat is a bit more open. 

“...Water...” she croaks out, a gasp of air signalling that she can say no more without a herculean effort. A sense of urgency crosses his face, looking up and seeing the piles around him.  


“I’ll be right back, ok?” he tells her, reassuring her, before taking off between the mountains, his footsteps squeaking slightly against the glassy floor as he runs, purposefully, between the towers. While awaiting his return, Jolene tries to get a hold of herself. She breathes a few deep, shaky breaths, trying to smooth them out. Thoughts race through her head, only briefly making themselves known before rushing away, twisting, becoming something new. How long has it been? Long enough that just seeing another person felt like an entirely new experience, at least. She tries to quiet down the booming sounds of her mind racing with the first new stimulation she’s had in far too long, awaiting Sebastian’s return while trying to make her throat be anything less than dry as the Hellmouth.

“I’m coming back!” His voice calls out again, appearing around the corner carrying an absolute mountain of various foodstuffs. He stumbles a bit, nearly dropping a box of Popcorn balanced on top, wobbling back in her direction. “They don’t have much in the way of drinks, but I got what I could.” He exhales, finally able to set the stuff down in front of Jolene, who looks it over and wants more than anything to be able to dive in and just start eating. Her gaze returns to the man who brought them over, looking at him, silently begging for some sort of assistance.

“Oh! Of course, don’t you worry at all.” His voice is soothing, calm, Jolene can tell that he’s used to doing similar things. Of course, he’s probably never dealt with someone who can’t even move, much less feed herself. She doesn’t even want to ask him for help, but Sebastian has no such qualms, instantly starting to gather various foods together, arranging them.

“It’s not going to taste great, but I think I can get you some water.” He says, grabbing a rainbow slushie and forcing the colored ice out onto the ground, where it rapidly just.. disappears, now that it’s not being used. Setting the cup down, Jolene watches him grab a pile of soft pretzels that appear soggy, but as he moves them she can see that they’re just absolutely soaked. “There was a bit of a flood down here - don’t ask how - and now these are permanently wet. Which means...” As he speaks, he’s lifting one of the waterlogged snacks above the cheap, plastic cup, and squeezes it, letting a significant amount of water run across his hands and down into the container, only slightly discolored from it’s time spent within a baked good.

He continues for a minute or two, going through 5 pretzels, each of which disappear as soon as they’re discarded, the floor appearing to let them sink in as if it were a viscous liquid. Jolene shudders at the thought that it could do that to her, should the Hall desire, and instead focuses on the nearly full cup of water, and the person who’s taking the time to put a lid back on it before standing up. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’m not sure you can hold this in a way that won’t spill it” His tone is hesitant as he positions the cup nearby her mouth. Jolene Willowtree is overwhelmed with feelings of thankfulness, relief, and gratitude as she manages to wrangle the straw and use some of her little strength to drink, finally, after all this time.

* * *

The first thing she feels is pain. Not enough to stop her rapidly draining the cup, but the taste of blood and a sharp sensation through her mouth and throat. Skin cracking as her body feels hydration, absorbing it and instantly putting it to work, she closes her eyes and hopes to herself that this is all it’ll take to let the branches surrounding her arm move once again, but at least so far, no luck. 

She takes a moment to swallow, move her mouth around, lick her lips, before looking at Sebastian Telephone and saying,

  
“Thank you.” Her voice is no longer quite as dry, and broken, almost sounding like her normal self, but she’s still weak. “Food, next?” She asks, still regaining her ability to speak properly, being careful not to push herself too far yet. Sebastian springs into motion, moving the now-empty cup away and gesturing to the pile.

  
“Anything specific?” He asks, visibly elated that she’s alright. After a shake of her head, he moves and grabs a clear plastic box with what looks like a gas station hot dog inside. “A good amount of protein, well cooked, well seasoned. If I didn’t know better I’d say one of my teammates was the one makin’ these.” He pops the box open and realizes that there’s definitely no way she can move enough to eat it. Before he can suggest anything, Jolene speaks,

“It’s fine. I need to eat, don’t I?” Her casual tone suggests a bit of a joke, which helps Sebastian shake off the awkwardness of the situation. 

  
“Of course you do!” He smiles, crouching down and gently holding the bread-encased sausage near her mouth. As they both gradually get over the weirdness of the situation, Jolene finds her mind wandering towards his expression. His face is so kind, so deliberate, she can tell that he would absolutely do this for anybody if they needed it. His expression hints at a feeling of relief, did he feel guilty about taking so long to find her? 

Eventually, her mind stops wandering and she finishes the hot dog, feeling a lot better overall. Sebastian, seeing her start to flex different muscles as she shakes off the fog that laid over her mind for so long, begins to fold and fluff one of the huge chef hats into a dense sort of stool, taking a seat. 

“What is this place?” Jolene Willowtree asks him. Sebastian’s a little surprised, at first.

“That’s not normally the first question people ask.” He says with a chuckle, lightening the somber mood a touch. “But I guess I’d probably be the one to ask. Wasn’t the first to be sent down here, and I haven’t been here the longest either, but I’ve been back and forth a fair bit, talk to the Monitor a lot, and just generally try to be the one that helps new folks find their way around here.” A smile makes its way onto his face again. He’s proud of that, she realizes, proud that he can be there for people when they first arrive, that he can help people get accustomed to it. But something else sticks in her mind, too.

“Back and forth? People can leave?” She asks, mind rife with possibilities. After all, she was told this was a sort of afterlife, when the Umpires decide you’re no longer allowed to live. Brutal, but just part of Blaseball, after all, at least in this league. 

“Well, not normally. There’s a few ways out, but none of them are all that reliable.” He shifts into a more storied tone, suggesting he’s at least thought about explaining this before. “Jaylen was the first. You know her? Jaylen Hotdogfingers?” Jolene shakes her head. “Well, she’s pretty iconic. Pitcher for the Garages, though she moves around a lot now. First to be incinerated after we opened the Book. Few seasons later, the Garages earned a blessing that, through a loophole, got Jaylen back. Depending on who you ask, she either climbed a ladder up there,” he points at the ceiling, or at least in the direction where one would be, “or a stairway opened in the floor. Some even say she just disappeared here and appeared up there, though I don’t believe that.”

“After realizing she was gone, The Monitor tried to track her down. Found it’s way up into the ILB. Now, it’s the Food and Beverage director, hence... this.” He moves his arms out and gestures at the mountains of food. “Since then, The Monitor generally has to be the one to pull us out, preventing another debt situation. The Fans have to orchestrate it, too. Doesn’t happen often.” Both his and Jolene’s expressions drop a bit at that.

“But, there was another time. You’ve heard of the Hall Stars, yeah? The best former players, brought back to fight The Shelled One. That was us.” There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he recalls it, a passion as he looks out, recounting the tale. “It was amazing. I can’t tell you how much fun I had with it. Nearly got Released, too.” She looks confused. 

“Released? Is that what happened to the Hall Stars at the end?”

“Mhm. Nobody’s quite sure what it means, but I like to think it means their contract was nullified. No longer a part of the system, able to get out of the endless cycle of Blaseball.” There’s a wistfulness in his eyes, now. She almost wants to comfort him. He takes a deep breath. “But then who’d take my place? Make sure newcomers to the Hall aren’t completely lost, scared, and alone?” With those words, he looks directly at Jolene, that same proud smile from before back on his face.

“You did a great job at that, by the way.” He’s confused for a moment. “At welcoming me. I was scared, alone, and... even after you got taken away, however that happened... just knowing that I wasn’t alone in this place was enough. Thank you.”

His eyes water up a bit. “It truly is my pleasure. I’m so sorry about getting whisked away like that, but as long as we stay around here it shouldn’t happen all that often. Plus, the others might find their way here eventually, who knows. You’ll get to meet them!”

“Others?”


End file.
